Let It Be Me
by lazysunday30
Summary: Fitz thinks Olivia is undergoing chemotherapy... might that make him break his promise to leave her be?
1. Chapter 1

_a/n: This story is in response to History Princess 1986's challenge. Fitz thinks it's Olivia who is undergoing chemo, and well... clearly he's still in love with her... R&R_

* * *

Fitz lifted his head as the door to the Oval opened. One of his personal assistants, Jeremy, stepped in, a worried look on his young face.

"Sir," said Jeremy, not daring to come any closer.

"What is it, Jeremy? What do you have for me this time? Did I miss a brunch with Mellie again?" said Fitz, a little on the sarcastic side.

"No Mr. President... it's about her," replied Jeremy, still looking like he might wet his wrinkled pants.

Fitz immediately looked up – Jeremy had his attention now. "What is it? What did you find?"

"Well, Sir, you told me to keep an eye on her… anything suspicious and I'm to report directly to you…" Jeremy trailed off, unsure how to go on.

"Yes, yes – I know. So what did you find?"

"Well, Mr. President, it has come across my path that Olivia Pope is undergoing…" Jeremy took a breath, and started over, "She's undergoing chemotherapy Mr. President," Jeremy looked down at his twenty-dollar shoes – scuffed at the toes.

Fitz sat back in his chair and dropped his pen down on his desk. He sat there frozen for a minute or two; Jeremy was still standing near the door. Finally he looked back up at the boy. "Thank you, Jeremy, you can go."

Just as the young man was about to open the door, Fitz stopped him. "And uh, let's – let's just keep this between us, huh?" The President was standing now.

Jeremy turned back around. "Of course Sir – I wouldn't have it any other way," and he walked out.

* * *

Fitz had been sitting in his office in much the same position for the last forty-five minutes. _Get a hold of yourself, man. You broke it off – yesterday! You broke it off yesterday and now you have to stay out of it – stay out of her life!_ But he couldn't. And he knew he couldn't. He'd barely survived the last nineteen hours, knowing that they were officially done.

He heard Cyrus walk in, close the door with a gentle thud, and take his usual seat on the comfortable couch. It always got to him… _why was one couch so much more comfortable than the other? Weren't they supposed to be identical?_

"Mr. President? Mr. President, this really is very important. Mr. President, Canada just invaded Maine… Mr. President?" Cyrus was trying to get his attention; Fitz knew that, he just couldn't focus. Not now. Not yet.

"Huh? Sorry Cy – got a lot on my mind right now…" He knew he needed to get himself back into this world. _Get out of your head – you're the President of the goddamn United States of America. You can focus for fifteen minutes._

"So do we all, Mr. President, so do we all… But I need you to sign off on few things before you head up to the residence tonight," said Cyrus, standing and walking over to the big desk.

"What? What time is it?" Hadn't it just been two o'clock? He couldn't have been sitting here for more than an hour.

"Sir, it's 9 PM."

_Good god. _

Fitz shook his head, "Right, of course, okay – what do I need to sign?" Cyrus put down the appropriate files in front of him, watching his President as he briefly read through the information and then ran his pen over the dotted line. And because Fitzgerald Grant was his President, because Fitzgerald Grant was like his baby, his child, Cyrus knew something was wrong. He knew it like he knew for a fact that the President of the United States had spent seven hours sitting at his desk doing nothing.

"If you don't mind my asking, Sir, is everything okay?" Cyrus pegged him with his knowing look – the one where if you didn't know he was like a teddy bear on the inside, you would think he just might eat you alive.

Fitz looked up into that stare. _He can't know._ "Of course, Cyrus, of course. Just tired."

_He's lying._ "It's her, isn't it?" Cyrus paced over to stand in-between the two couches, "It's Olivia," he paced back and forth, flapping his arms around as he went, "I don't understand why you can't let her go. I mean – I understand it – I do, but… I don't see why you can't let her go. For now at least. She makes you miserable, and -"

"I let her go."

"What?" Cyrus stopped pacing.

"I let her go. Last night I did the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my entire life."

"You let her go."

"I let her go." Fitz looked down at the files that were still stacked on his desk. He stood up, rubbing his hands across his face. He was tired. "We can finish these tomorrow," he said, walking to the door, "'Night, Cy."

* * *

_TBC... _

_But what might make me update faster? You guessed it, you magnificent beast - a review. _


	2. Chapter 2

It had been two days. Two days since he had sat in his office for hours on end. Two days since he had sat in his office for hours on end thinking about Olivia. Two days since he had come to the conclusion that if they left things where they'd been that night in the restaurant, he would live the rest of his life in guilt and regret.

But he still hadn't done anything. Hadn't picked up the phone to call her. Hadn't made a deal with Tom and Hal to sneak out of the White House in the early hours of the morning to drop by her apartment. Hadn't even told Cyrus.

For him, when it came to her, everything was too precious. He couldn't talk to Cyrus about this. It meant too much to him. Besides, he already knew what his Chief of Staff thought of this whole thing.

"Fitz?" Oh brother. _She_ was back. Mellie had been at some… he didn't even know what – he didn't even care what – for the past twenty-four hours. "Fitz are you in here – oh. I'm back," she said, standing in the doorway of the nursery.

"I can see that. And how was…"

"North Carolina."

"Right. North Carolina," god he didn't even care enough to remember where she'd been for a day and a half.

"Well I had thousands of women asking me how I'm handling the stress of pregnancy – like I haven't already gone through it before. God, these women. When I go to these things it makes me lose hope in the country's future," she was ranting. He hated it when she ranted. When they were first married he thought it was kind of cute. Now it's like nails on a chalkboard.

"Alright, well…" he was tired. And he couldn't think. Not with Mellie in the room. He couldn't think about the woman he loved with his wife in the room. "I'm gonna go take a shower… I uh, probably won't be back in residence for dinner, so…"

"I'll make due," and with that, she turned on her heel and left. Alone again. _But what do I do? How do I make this right? …She has cancer you idiot – you don't make this right… There must be something I can do. Flowers? …No. There's nothing you can do. _

But there was something he could do. He knew it and the voice in his head knew it and hell, even Tom and Hal knew it. He could leave Mellie for her. _But is that even what she wants anymore? Is that ever what she wanted? …Of course that's what she wanted, you buffoon. But it may not be anymore…_

He decided that for now, he would leave her be. Obviously she didn't want him knowing about it, or she would have told him herself. _Right?_

* * *

She knew something was wrong with him the moment she walked in. God, if ever anyone pulled off 'love-sick puppy dog' it was this man right here. Her husband. And as much as she would have liked to not care about any of this, she knew it would start affecting him publicly. Soon. And there was only one person to talk to when things got rough.

"Mellie, so good to see you back."

"You too, Cy," she replied. Cyrus was trying to shake her off, and as such, they were walking and talking. She should have worn more comfortable heels. "You know, it's been a while since you and I have had time to talk – just us."

"Indeed it has."

"So what say you and I have a little – I don't know – brunch? Tomorrow afternoon?" and just before Cyrus could refuse, "Great! I'll have my people contact your people to set this up," and she walked away.

* * *

"Well, this _is_ nice, isn't it? Just you and me, sitting down for a quite brunch," said Mellie, her ever-present smile on her flawless face.

"What do you want, Mellie?" asked Cyrus – forward as always. He was no fool. Especially when it came to the First Family. He knew she wanted information on her troubled husband.

"Why would you think I want anything Cy? Come on – how's James? Still after a baby?" her sweet smile was sickening to Cyrus, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take of this.

"Spit it out, Mellie. I don't have all day. In fact," he said, turning his wrist over to look at his watch, "I have about two minutes. Whatever you want to get at you better get at fast."

With that, Mellie's whole demeanor changed. "Fine. You know what I want," she glanced sideways to make sure no one was listening, which of course they weren't, as no one was even around.

"Come on. Say it. Out loud," he was goading her on.

"I want to know what has him so goddamn fucked up. And if you say her name, I'll walk right out of here," she warned.

"Olivia. Pope," said Cyrus, a grin on his face. Mellie threw her napkin down as ladylike as she could and walked out.

* * *

TBC... reviews are appreciated


	3. Chapter 3

It was late. Another long day for the leader of the free world. Another long day for the tortured man. His fingers itched to pick up the phone – to call her. He knew she wouldn't answer, so who would it hurt? Just to call. He wouldn't even bring up the cancer. Just to hear her voice again after a day like today would be like putting salve on the worst of burns.

But as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't betray her trust in him so easily. He'd promised her he'd stay out of it. He'd given her his word. If that wasn't worth anything, nothing was.

And of course Cyrus had warned him not to. During the past three days he got small but extremely constant reminders that she was no longer part of his life, and that he'd best leave her be. So he had. And it'd been killing him.

For three days his mind had been partially occupied at all times by her face, the sound of her voice, the way she looked when she slept.

"Don't," the voice said. The ever-present voice that he wished was nowhere nearby. "Don't do it. She won't thank you for it. _You_ won't thank you for it."

"I wasn't –"

"Of course not. The hand you have a mere inch away from that shiny black phone was not about to pick it up and make a call. _Because you know better than that, _Mr. President," said Cyrus with an, I'll-just-pretend-I-don't-see-it look. It was one he had perfected.

Fitz sighed. "I can't do nothing," he replied.

"_You_ broke it off with _her,_ Mr. President. What's done is done. It's probably for the better… unless… unless there's something you're holding back?" asked Cyrus. Damn that man was perceptive.

Fitz said nothing. He said nothing because he knew that Cyrus would see through anything he came up with. That man had a way of knowing not only your darkest secret, but also what you had for breakfast two weeks ago and how old your father would be if he were still alive. So he said nothing.

"Well? What is it?" Cyrus knew he would get an answer. This man – this great man – could hold nothing back from him. From the world? Yes. But from his chief of staff and closest confidant? Never.

Fitz stood up, ran his fingers through his hair and scrubbed his palm across his tired face. "She has cancer," he whispered. He hadn't said it out loud until now.

Cyrus sat down. He sat down because as much as he loved power and success – as much as he wanted to stay where he was (and to stay where he was he had to keep the President away from his girlfriend), he loved Olivia. He'd known her for years, taught her most of what she knew, and then she'd taught him.

"God," was all that came out.

"She has _cancer,_ Cyrus. _Cancer._ The love of my life is suffering from a deadly disease and what have I done?! I've done _nothing_. For the last three days I haven't done shit. And who knows how bad it is? Who knows anything? I don't – because I haven't _tried_ to know anything. Do you know how unlike me that is, Cyrus? Do you? _Do_ you?!" Fitz collapsed in his chair, elbows on knees, face in palms.

_I can't believe she didn't tell me_, was all that was running through Cyrus' mind. _I can't believe she didn't tell me._ Sure, there had been a distance between them since she'd left the White House, but still, they were close. And James liked her.

"I'll talk to her, maybe –"

"No. No you don't talk to her. You don't talk to anyone – _especially_ Mellie," he gave Cyrus a pointed look. "I know it hurts – she didn't tell you. You thought you were close – you _are_ close, the two of you – and she didn't tell you. But you know Liv, never wanting to show weakness," said Fitz.

"I'm surprised she didn't use a pseudonym at the hospital," added Cyrus. Fitz nodded his head in agreement.

"I'll take care of this," said Fitz, "I'll take care of this," he said even more softly, as if trying to convince himself that there was a good way to take care of something this monumental.

"What do you plan on doing?"

"I don't know," he whispered. _What to do, what to do…_

"If I were you… if I were you I'd send one of the boys over to her place with some flowers – roses, white. Write a nice card, say you're sorry, all that. Ease into it. You broke her heart, Mr. President, she won't respond to you if you just storm over there demanding information. Send the flowers, then wait a few more days," said Cyrus, sensing that maybe the man in front of him was in over his head.

Fitz thrust his head up furiously, "How can I possibly wait longer than I already have?"

"If you love her, you will. If you love her and you want to be there for her, you'll wait. It's why you've waited this long, and it's why you'll wait a bit longer," he replied, and once again Fitz hung his head in compliance.

That's _why I keep him around,_ thought Fitz. _Because when the going gets tough, Cyrus grows stronger. I need to grow stronger too…_

* * *

_to be continued, my pretty little dumplings... _

_and thanks to all those who have been reviewing - much appreciated! _


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry it's been a while since the last update... I've been really busy. Anyway, enjoy..._

* * *

Fitz wrung his hands together nervously. He'd taken Cyrus' advice. He'd taken Cyrus' advice and now he sat nervously in his private office in the West Wing waiting to hear from Tom. He'd sent him even though both he and Hal had protested. Sure, he could have sent someone else, but he didn't really trust anyone else. Not with something as important as this.

He'd taken Cyrus' advice and gone with white. Two dozen. And a hand-written card. Plain. Simple. It was very him. _It was very her,_ he realized. They were one in the same. He shook his head and made his way to the scotch.

* * *

"Tom."

"Ms. Pope."

"What does he want?"

"Just to give you these," he replied, fearful that the woman would shut the door in his face. How would he explain _that_ to his boss?

"Really? Flowers?" Olivia was fairly unimpressed. Hadn't he promised to leave her alone? _God, the man just couldn't keep his word, could he?_

"There's a note attached, as well," said Tom, inching his way into her apartment so he could set down the large bouquet. "Have a good night, Ms. Pope," he said, making is way back down the hall.

"Wait!" she called, unsure of what had just happened, "is that it?" Tom nodded. Olivia shut the door, unnerved. _White roses?_ _What's that supposed to mean? Some sort of surrender?_ Olivia reached for the small note attached to one of the stems. Ripping the baby-sized envelope open, she quickly read his note. Then she re-read it. And then a third time.

She was confused. The man was infuriating. Why couldn't he just say what he meant, instead of writing riddles for her to solve?

Nevertheless, she brought the vase of flowers into her room and placed them on the bedside table, positioning the note next to it. Because no matter what he did, no matter what he said, she couldn't ignore the burning feeling in the pit of her stomach when it came to him. She couldn't deny that as mad as it made her when he would send Tom and Hal to summon her, she dreaded the day when it would stop.

Olivia knew she should talk to him. Call Tom or Hal and get them to send him a message. But she was too mad. Right now she was too mad to even think about seeing him. Because seeing him, hell – talking to him, made her want to fix everything in an instant. _Not this time. This time he comes to me. _And he would – he already had. But she needed more. More than "I'm sorry," more than "I love you."

She turned off her lamp and laid her head on the pillow for another sleepless night.

* * *

"Did she take them?"

"Yes, Sir."

Fitz nodded, "Good… good." He paused. Looked back up at Tom. "She say anything else?"

"Well Sir…" Tom hesitated, not sure if it was really his place.

"Just tell me."

"Sir… I think she was surprised that I wasn't there to bring her to you. She was almost stunned when all I had were the flowers," Tom looked down, cringing.

Fitz laughed a sorry laugh, shaking his head. Tom and Hal took that as a signal to step outside and take up their position outside his office.

_She expected me to summon her. She expected me to summon her because that's all I've ever done. We've been together on my terms – she's never had a say in where, in when. _And in that moment Fitz made up his mind. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her, making it all up to her. Because who sends for the love of their life like she's a prostitute? Who _does_ that? Fitz slammed his hand down on his desk, rattling the frames that held photos of his family. _But not of her_.

He heard Cyrus' voice in his head, _Wait a few days, then call her. Don't rush anything, Mr. President._

So Fitz sat down again, picked up his scotch, and hoped that his note had softened her a bit – enough to let her listen to his pleas of forgiveness. Because he would grovel till the end of time for that woman.

* * *

_TBC... sorry this one was a little shorter_


	5. Chapter 5

It was when he showed up at her apartment in the middle of the night again that she knew something was wrong. This President kept his word. That, combined with the look on his face, meant something was wrong.

She held onto the door tightly with one hand, the other clutched the doorframe. "Mr. President. I thought we had an agreement."

He sighed, looking down, crestfallen. "Please can I come in?"

"What's wrong?"

"You know. _Please_ can I come in?" he was practically begging. And something was wrong. So she let him in, shutting the door on the two agents who would wait dutifully outside her door for however long their President deemed it necessary to stay.

"Well, since you've already broken your promise why don't you just take a seat, huh? Can I get you anything? Some water? Juice, perhaps?" she was taunting him. She was taunting him and he knew it but he didn't have the energy to play along, to retaliate.

He paced back and forth in her living room. Once around the coffee table, then twice. "Mr. President it's really very late –"

"Liv," he uttered. Fitz stopped pacing. Instead he stood there, arms at his sides, shoulders hunched over, looking like he had just found out his dog died. "I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I want to help," he said, coming towards her; hands out like a beggar's, "_please_ let me help."

She felt the need to step back, but she didn't. She suppressed that need because right now she needed to stand her ground. She needed him to know she was strong, because for some reason she sensed that he didn't think she could take care of herself. And if there was one thing Olivia Pope could do, it was take care of herself.

"Mr. President –"

"Oh drop it, Olivia, just drop it. Fitz. Fitz."

"_Fine._ _What_ do you want? _What_ is wrong? Because the Fitzgerald Grant I know keeps his promises. He is a man of his word. So sending flowers after he's promised to let me go, well that's unlike the Fitzgerald Grant I know. Showing up at my apartment a few days later with no explanation? That's _also_ unlike the Fitzgerald Grant I know," she paused for a moment. "Or should I say knew." It was like a stab in the chest – to both of them.

"I thought my reasons for being here were clear. You got the flowers, so you got my note. I thought that explained everything," he looked genuinely confused, so she let him continue. "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"I don't understand why you can't let anyone help you – ever! I don't fucking _get it!_ All I want to do is help – all I want to do is help you through this time – to _be_ here for you and _you won't let me!_" he stopped to take a shaky breath, rubbing his hand down his face.

Olivia cocked her head to the side, set her jaw in place and was about to rip him a new one – "For God's sake, Liv. You have _cancer_. Just let me be there for you. That's all I ever wanted…"

And then it dawned on her, "You've been checking up on me."

"Liv."

"You've been checking up on me," she threw her hands in the air, "God, Fitz, I cannot _believe_ – no. No I can _absolutely_ believe that you would do something like this. I bet you got one of your private secretaries to start a secret little file on me, didn't you? I bet you got reports on my comings and goings, my _business_, at regular intervals, didn't you? Or was it just when something unusual popped up? Huh? _What_ was it?!" she was furious, a blind man could see that.

Fitz collapsed onto the couch, defeated. "You know," he started, "for someone with cancer you sure do have a lot of energy."

"That's because I don't _have_ cancer! If your ignorant little interns knew how to do their jobs they would have dug deeper. And if they had dug deeper they would have figured out that I let a friend use my name as an alias. I don't _have_ cancer," now she was the one pacing.

Fitz instantly perked up. He shot up off of the couch and landed on his knees in front of her. Holding onto the back of her thighs he started sobbing. Every emotion he had repressed while he was sitting in his office waiting, thinking about what to do, was coming out now. "You don't have cancer."

"I don't have cancer." He rested his head on her stomach, bringing one of his arms up to wrap around her waist.

She didn't flinch. She didn't remove his head or his hands. She stood there, letting him cling to her, letting him cry. He'd told her he loved her many times before, and she'd only let herself half believe him. This time, however, she knew that all those previous confessions weren't false. She understood now, that this man loved her just as much as she loved him. He didn't need to say it for her to believe him. Not this time or anytime after that. Because he, Fitzgerald Grant, the most powerful man in the world, was on his knees in front of her, weeping in happiness. She smiled.

* * *

_I know it's been a while. So very very sorry. _

_Let me know what you think..._


	6. Chapter 6

Time had a funny way of passing slowly when all you wanted was to get to the next moment. Just like it had a funny way of speeding up when you wished you could stop it. Olivia pondered this conundrum for what seemed like the thousandth time, waiting for her tea to heat up. She leaned against the counter, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. The TV was on in the other room – Sports Center.

As Olivia waited, she thought back to those moments that made her scream with joy and hang her had in despair. Theirs hadn't been an easy road.

"Liv? You coming? Your show is about to start," he called from the other room. And then in a lower voice, "Although I don't know how you can watch this crap…" he mumbled. It was one of the _Real Housewives_ shows – a guilty pleasure of hers, but one that he endured (she knew he secretly loved it as well).

"I'll be there in a minute," she answered, now wrapping her arms around her waist.

After that night at her apartment, she'd never been able to go back. She'd never been able to go back to pretending that she didn't care, that she didn't love him, that she could live without him by her side. He'd wanted to leave Mellie right away, something she dissuaded him from doing. He was born to be a leader. If Olivia knew one thing it was that Fitzgerald Grant III was born to be a leader. He wouldn't throw away his political career for her. She wouldn't let him.

So for the rest of his first term and all through his second she stood at the sidelines. She didn't go back to work for him, although she was always there for consultation. Mellie had known, of course, even though he'd never mentioned it. He didn't really have to. Fitz found out exactly whom he'd married when Mellie calmly walked into his office, sat down, and told him exactly what she expected in return for her staying.

And he'd given her everything she asked for, because fighting with his wife about every little thing was beyond anything he cared about at that point. He filed for divorce the day after he left office. Olivia had advised him not to rush it – he didn't need the press attention, but the press attention he got. And the day his divorce was finalized, he proposed. He proposed to the love of his life and never looked back.

There was a wedding and then there were children; he wrote a memoir and she kept wearing the white hat. And now it was thirty years later and he wouldn't change anything for the world. He would marry Mellie again if it meant he got to relive his life with Olivia Pope. It had made them stronger. They knew each other, inside and out. There were no secrets. Nothing to hide behind. They were two souls who'd found each other and refused to let go.

She thought back to one of their stolen moments at Camp David during Christmastime.

_They were sitting on the couch, her legs tucked up underneath her, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her. The fire was crackling in front of them. _

_Olivia was reading a book about Elizabeth I, Fitz was watching her. He loved watching her read, loved watching her in this state of complete relaxation that was neither here nor there. He reached over and closed the book, stopping her protestations with a shake of his head and a look. _

"_I was... in the White House library the other day, just kind of… getting away from things," she gave him an odd look. It was unlike this man to be nervous. "Anyway, I found this book of poetry, and well, you know I hate poetry," she nodded, he did hate poetry – almost never understood it. "Well I found this one poem and…" he was getting nervous again. _

"_Why don't you just read it to me?" she whispered, almost afraid to scare him off from whatever he was about to say._

_He nodded. Olivia always had the best ideas. And so in gravelly but strong voice, he read her the only poem he ever liked, the only poem he ever understood. _

"_I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I_

_Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?_

_But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?_

_Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?_

'_Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be._

_If ever any beauty I did see,_

_Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee._

_And now good-morrow to our waking souls,_

_Which watch not one another out of fear;_

_For love, all love of other sights controls,_

_And makes one little room an everywhere._

_Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,_

_Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,_

_Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one._

_My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,_

_And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;_

_Where can we find two better hemispheres,_

_Without sharp north, without declining west?_

_Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;_

_If our two loves be one, or, thou and I_

_Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die." He stopped, not meeting her eye. If he'd looked at her, he'd have seen the single tear running down her face. He started to speak again, "I know, I know it's been hard. It's been hard and… not ideal. But I need you to know. I need you to know that I love you," he paused for a moment, then whispered, "I can't live without you."_

"_I know. I know," she replied, nodding. "I love you too," she whispered, bringing her hand up to his cheek, stroking. _

_He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, "I'm gonna marry you someday." She smiled. _

Olivia was brought out of her memory by Fitz, who was standing in the door to the kitchen, just watching her. "Are you coming? You'll never believe what Countess LuAnn just said… What?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side for emphasis.

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "Come on, Donne." Picking up her tea she started toward the den with her husband in tow.

_FIN._

* * *

_So that's the end... I hope all have enjoyed. _

_The poem is called The Good-Morrow, by John Donne_


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